Tick Tock

I hit the speed bump at least ten miles an hour over the speed limit. The Jeep objected to my rough handling, bouncing hard, and I heard a nasty scrape as my exhaust battered off the highest point of the hump. I winced, but I was late -- really late. I swung into my street and, seeing no nosey neighbors out in their front gardens, floored it until my house came into view. His car was in my driveway. It had probably been there a while. My phone had beeped at least three times, but I hadn't had the courage to look and see if it was Sir.

It wasn't like his displeasure could make me go any faster.

And it wasn't my fault that some moron had dumped their load on the highway and trapped us all for over an hour.

I pulled into the second space in the drive as quickly as I dared. I had the engine off and had yanked up my handbag in the space of a heartbeat, flinging myself out the door and around Sir's car to the front porch, where he was waiting for me, an overnight suitcase at his feet, suit bag draped carefully over the top. He did not look happy.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I chimed, fumbling for my keys. "There was an accident, and I couldn't get off the highway. I had to wait for them to clear it."

"You should have messaged me," he said, voice hard. "I was worried. I thought it might be you, involved in a crash."

Oops. I hadn't thought of that.

"I sent you messages, they came through on my phone did they not?"

I had the door open now, and we were seriously behind schedule, but he didn't move a muscle. Apparently we were going to have this out first.

"They did," I said. No lying. It was the one thing Sir abhorred above all else, and I was hopeless at it anyway.

"But you didn't read them."

Nope. I grimaced. "I thought you'd be mad at me."

"Was the accident your fault?"

"No."

"Then I would not have been angry. Only relieved that you were all right."

He was right, but in the moment I'd been filled with panic as the minutes ticked by -- I hated being late -- and I'd only thought about Sir at my house, unable to get in, waiting for me.

"I'm sorry," I told him.

"Hmmm."

Not forgiven yet then. He motioned for me to go inside, draping his suit bag over one arm and picking up the small suitcase. We were going to the theatre to see a show, and Sir had got us stupidly expensive seats right at the front, so I'd be able to see every thought, every emotion on the actors' faces. The thought of the money he'd spent made me even more anxious, sitting in the damned traffic jam. I could feel dollars slipping down the drain with every minute that passed.

"Do you want to use the basement bathroom?" I asked, dumping my stuff just inside the door and hauling off my shoes. "It'll be quicker if we can shower at the same time."

"I had plans to shower at the same time," Sir told me, his voice down in that low, sexy register that turned me to jelly. "But you don't deserve that."

Balls!

"Maybe later?" I asked hopefully.

"No." Double balls. "We're leaving in twenty minutes, Kitten. Be ready."

It took me twenty minutes to dry my hair.

I squeaked and raced for the stairs, unbuttoning my work blouse as I went, my bra off and my skirt undone before I reached my bedroom. It was spotlessly clean -- I always gutted it before Sir came over -- but I tossed my clothes onto a pile on the carpet as I entered the en suite and turned on the shower. I'd planned to wash and style my hair, but that was out. I reckoned I could do a pretty decent French roll with it as it was, and that was elegant enough for the theatre, wasn't it? I shoved myself under the spray before it had fully warmed up, shivering as I scrubbed at my face and lathered up a sponge. I washed myself as quickly as I could, thanking every god I could name that I'd shaved my legs that morning.

Eight minutes had passed when I shut off the water and grabbed a towel from the rail. I lotioned up and sprayed myself with perfume then wiggled into my underwear -- a sexy, lacy set I'd bought especially for the occasion. I shimmied into my little black dress, also bought for the occasion and plunging down to reveal an almost -- almost -- indecent amount of cleavage. The bra plumped my breasts up beautifully, they looked good even to me. What looked less good was the little indent where my knickers were digging into my hips slightly. Well fuck, that ruined the line of the dress completely.

I debated for half a moment, then hitched the dress up and tugged my knickers down. I kicked them away and re-evaluated. Yeah, that looked better. And it was a filthy little thought, imagining that all I had to do was part my thighs just a couple of inches and Sir would be able to finger my cunt.

Our seats were in the front row -- would the actors be able to see? I smirked at myself as I smoothed my hands over the dress, then I paused. Looked towards the shelves in my walk-in wardrobe. Should I? I might be in trouble for doing it without asking, or maybe Sir would be impressed with my initiative? It could go either way, really, but it didn't matter. I'd already made up my mind.

Tugging my dress back up over my hips, exposing my naked ass, I rooted around in my little box of naughty toys until my fingers touched the cool smoothness of my metal princess plug, a pink gem at the base. I grabbed my lube too, lathering the plug and then reaching around to slip my still slick fingers inside me. I didn't have time to do my usual controlled breathing, sliding the plug in and out as I stretched the ring of muscle to accept it, but I was so aroused by the thought, so twitchy about the seconds and minutes tick ticking by, that I was almost immune to the pinch of pain as I forced my body to accept it.

Fuck yes. My clit twitched as I pulled my dress back down, the hem hitting mid-thigh. I turned to check, but of course the plug couldn't be seen. The slightly stretchy fabric looked great on my ass though.

Hands shaking slightly with the adrenaline of my own daring combined with the time limit, I pulled my hair out of the braid I'd had in it and prepared to attempt a French roll. I paused before I gathered the long tresses up, eyeing my reflection in the mirror. I'd braided it wet, and it had dried during the day, taking on a wave that rippled down to my waist. It looked... really good. Score.

I tugged out my make up and set about slapping on the little I was comfortable doing without turning myself into a clown: foundation, eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara. Then I slathered Vaseline on my lips.

I looked at myself in the mirror, saw the pink spots on my cheeks, the brightness in my eyes. The rush to get ready and my long loose, tousled hair gave me a just-been-fucked look. I looked like we'd had that shower sex after all. My clit gave a second twitch, this one mournful, and I laughed as I turned away and grabbed my stilettos from the wardrobe. I pulled them on and stepped out into my bedroom.

Sir was there, sat on my bed, waiting for me.

He stood up slowly, letting me admire him. His hair was slightly wet still from his shower, tendrils curling round his ears. He'd shaved, showing off the sharp line of his jaw, and I could smell the scent of his aftershave from here. Fuck, I loved that smell. It made me think of cumming. His suit was black and fitted him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and tall form. He looked edible.

"Wow," I said.

He didn't say anything. He just... looked at me.

Fuck. Was the dress too slutty? It was long enough at the leg but maybe the plunging cleavage was too plunging? Or was it my hair, draped all around me? Had he expected some elegant up-do? I should have tried the French roll, I thought. Embarrassment was a cold stone in my stomach. I'd thought I looked nice, but he obviously wasn't impressed. I dropped my gaze, willing tears not to start as I'd no time to fix my make up and I already looked shit enough apparently-

Shiny black shoes appeared in my vision as Sir crossed the carpet towards me. Strong fingers thrust into my hair at my nape, gripping a handful and tugging my head back. I lifted my face, thinking he was going to chastise me, and had only a fraction of a second to register that his face was coming at me, fast, before his mouth fastened onto mine. I bent like a stripling tree against a gale as he kissed me hard, tongue thrusting into my mouth and dueling with mine. His other hand went to my backside, grabbing a handful and squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises on my ass. When he pulled away, I was gasping for breath and almost dizzy.

"What-?" I managed.

"Fucking hell," he growled. He grabbed one of the straps of my dress and dragged it down over my shoulder. My lace-covered breast immediately slipping free of the confines of the neckline, my nipple poking hard against the fabric. Sir groaned and went for my neck, biting and licking hard while two fingers grabbed that peak and pinched and twisted. I gasped, going up on my toes and pressing into the pain as I tilted my neck back to give him better access, felt him bite his way down toward where his fingers were busy working.

His other hand was slowly making its way up under my dress, inching it up my thigh until my ass was revealed, then his hand was there again, kneading and squeezing. Taking in the fact I'd been planning to go to the theatre without any knickers on. When one of his fingers brushed the base of the plug, he stopped entirely, lifting his face to stare at me, one eyebrow sliding up his brow.

"Surprise?" I offered hopefully.

The world moved in a blur as Sir wordlessly picked me up and flung me onto the bed. I landed hard, the air exploding from my lungs in a rush. I struggled to right myself, aiming for a sitting position, but Sir had a knee in the bed and he grabbed me by a hip and spun me until I landed face first into the covers. My dress had ridden up to sit around my waist, both breasts now spilled free from the top. I tried to get a knee under me, to get up onto all fours, but a stinging smack across my ass told me to stay put. I hissed, the skin there throbbing. Sir had put all his strength into that spank; he meant business.

I heard the sound of a belt being tugged free and I arched my back, presenting my ass, hoping I might get a few more strikes for my naughtiness.

Unfortunately not. The belt was flung to the side, landing on the floor beside my discarded work clothes. I heard Sir's zipper descending then a hand under my hips hauled my pelvis up. There was no warning, no warm-up. Sir thrust into my hard, sheathing himself to the hilt. Fuuuuck. My body was primed to accept him, but still, I felt split in two as he held himself there, as deep as he could go.

"We'll be late," I managed to gasp.

"I don't give a fuck," was the response.

He shifted his weight, leaning forward so that he could grip me by the back of my neck, fingers digging in tightly, pressing me down and holding me there. Then he started to move.

In and out. Fast and hard. Slamming into me, making me ride that delicious line between pleasure and pain. Fast, then faster still, until the streaks of pleasure from every forward thrust coalesced into a constant bloom that had my eyes rolling back in my head, my fingers turning into claws and digging into the bed covers. Between his controlling hold on me, the plug being wiggled with every moment, and his hips moving like a metronome, I was surrounded by sensation.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I chanted it with every thrust until all I could do was wail as my orgasm came crashing over me. My body started twitching, over sensitive, unable to handle the continued stimulation, and I tried to wriggle away from either Sir's hand or his cock, still pounding into me. He didn't let me, holding me in place and forcing me to ride out the exquisite, excruciating extasy-agony of nerves stretched beyond breaking point. I think I came again, or maybe I just didn't stop cumming. Either way, my body was on fire, overwhelmed with sensation.

"Jesus fuck, Kitten, what you do to me," Sir grunted, his thrusts becoming arhythmic as he chased his own end. I tilted my hips, desperate for it. I loved the feeling of him cumming in me, marking me as his in the most primal way. "You ready?" he asked. "You ready to take it?"

"Yeah," I breathed, and a moment later I felt him jerk one, twice, then bury himself inside me, hips pressed tight against my ass as he emptied himself in my cunt.

"Fuck, Kitten," he murmured. "Fuck!"

He held me there a moment longer and then let go, fingers lightly stroking my neck, before he bend down and placed a lingering kiss between my shoulder blades. Gentle hands gripped my dress and drew it slowly down over my hips before he took hold of my shoulder and pulled me up until I was on my knees, my back pressed to his front. He swept my hair out of the way of one shoulder and went back to kissing me there, slow and sweet.

"Come on, Kitten," he said. "Get yourself together. We've got a show to get to."

What?

We made it to the theatre at the beginning of the second act. Sir guided me to my seat and I sat there in my low cut dress, bruises spotting my cleavage, while cum seeped slowly between my thighs. My hair was a riot, my make up smeared across my face. I looked like I'd been fucked. Hard.

And every actor on the damned stage knew it.